


A Wolf in Sheep's Hosen

by tuesdaymidnight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, Crack, Derek Hale in lederhosen, Established Relationship, Frottage, Halloween, M/M, Stiles knows German for some reason, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymidnight/pseuds/tuesdaymidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles lose a bet, which means Lydia and Jackson get to choose their costumes to wear to Lydia's Halloween party. Hansel? Meet Gretel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wolf in Sheep's Hosen

**Author's Note:**

> So... [pictures of Tyler Hoechlin at a Halloween party wearing lederhosen](http://tuesdaymidnight.tumblr.com/post/34598811688/tyler-hoechlin-smiles-for-the-camera-as-he-arrives) appeared this morning. 
> 
> And then [epsionage](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LouLa/pseuds/espionage) said "Hope I'm not the only one imagining Stiles/Dylan dressed as Gretel..." 
> 
> And then [OnTheTurningAway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheTurningAway) said "There's a Halloween themed fic in there somewhere!" 
> 
> And then this happened. I've lost my damn mind.

“I still don’t understand how this happened.” Stiles shook his head as he clutched the frilly white petticoat in his hand.  
  
“It was a stupid idea to have a hunting contest with them anyway.”  
  
Stiles continued pulling his Halloween costume out of the box Lydia had hand-delivered with a cackle to the Stilinski house earlier that afternoon.  
  
“But you’re the _alpha_. Plus, my shot has improved a lot. I mean, I thought it would be Scott and Allison who would give us a run for our money, well, Allison anyway. Scott’s basically worthless as far as anything remotely wolflike goes. Except sleeping. Do wolves sleep a lot? Do they hibernate? Is that why you seem even grumpier this time of year?”  
  
“Stiles, shut up,” Derek barked as he disappeared into the bathroom with his own costume.  
  
Stiles did shut up, long enough to try to squeeze into the puffy-sleeved dress, stockings, garter belt, and bloomers - honest to god bloomers - and stand in front of his mirror frowning at his reflection.  
  
“I should know better than to underestimate Lydia, but nothing, nothing can erase the embarrassment of losing to Jackson,” Stiles said as he adjusted his blond, pigtail wig.  
  
“I don’t know,” Derek said, as he stepped into the room. “This is sort of the definition of embarrassing.”  
  
Stiles squeaked when he took a look at Derek, who was gaping back at him with an unreadable expression. Derek was the Hansel to Stiles’ Gretel.  
  
“You’re not the one in a dress,” Stiles said mechanically, staring at the unforgivably tight shorts that came halfway up Derek’s muscular thighs.  
  
“I’m in lederhosen, Stiles. Leder. Hosen.”  
  
“How is that worse?”  
  
“At least your ruffles leave something to the imagination.” Derek gestured to his crotch. “Stiles? Stiles, I’m up here.”  
  
Stiles’ cheeks barely flushed as he looked back up at Derek’s face. Dating a werewolf who could sense your heartbeat and blood flow sort of made it hard to hide arousal. Derek at least had the decency to allow Stiles’ mortification to pass unmentioned so much so that Stiles was increasingly becoming immune to shame.  
  
Stiles looked into the two boxes on his bed and plucked the hat from Derek’s, setting it on top his head while Derek’s scowl deepened.  
  
“Let’s just get this over with,” Derek muttered.  
  
“I hope the evil witch eats you first.”  
  
Because Stiles was quite possibly the unluckiest human being in the history of the universe, even though it was Halloween and the entire police force was on duty, the Sheriff had somehow timed his break for exactly when Derek and Stiles were leaving to go to Lydia’s party.  
  
The camera flash practically blinded Stiles so that he stumbled down the last two steps, though the clogs were also partially to blame. The sheriff didn’t say anything, probably because he was laughing too hard to get a word in.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up dad. You know the old saying about not biting the hand that feeds you? My low-sodium, no-sugar, no-fat vegan recipe book and I are going to remember this moment. I hope you like Tofurkey and tofumpkin pie.”  
  
The fact that the threat of a soy-based Thanksgiving sent the sheriff further into peals of laughters was alarming.  
  
They climbed into Derek’s Camaro, because there was absolutely no doubt that Stiles would be drinking until he couldn’t feel feelings anymore at the party. It felt like only seconds passed before they were parked around the corner from Lydia’s house.  
  
Derek growled.  
  
“What?”  
  
“They know we’re coming.”  
  
“How do you-”  
  
“Alpha,” Derek interrupted, only one word of explanation needed.  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes.  
  
Stiles had braced himself for it, but nothing could ever really prepare you for a room full of people laughing at you and taking blackmail pictures on their phones, so he adopted his favorite defense mechanism and hammed it up, spinning around and flipping up his petticoat, making Derek twirl him under his arm.  
  
Eventually the few minutes of horror were over, and everyone went back to drinking, laughing, dancing, and talking. Of course, that didn’t stop the barrage of werewolves coming up to Stiles and hitting on him throughout the evening. Even Scott had to remark that Stiles had the legs of a thoroughbred after catcalling at him from across the room for everyone to hear. The worst of it was when Erica reached under Stiles’ skirt to give him a pinch on the bum. After which, Stiles swore he heard Derek emit another unhumanlike growl across the room. Erica just winked at Stiles as she made a hasty retreat.  
  
Stiles was a couple drinks in when he plastered himself against Derek’s side and leaned into his ear.  
  
“Can I confess something to you?”  
  
“Something tells me you’re going to anyway.”  
  
“You look kind of really hot in your hosen.”  
  
Derek’s face softened ever-so slightly before he leaned over and murmured into his ear, “Well, you look kind of hot in a skirt.”  
  
Then, being the horrible tease of a boyfriend he was, Derek dragged Stiles' earlobe gently between his teeth and sucked.  
  
And just like that, Stiles’ bloomers were a little too tight.  
  
Of course, it was just as Stiles turned to get back at Derek by shoving his tongue down his throat in as obscene a way as possible, when there was a loud crash outside and the unmistakable sound of deck furniture being thrown into a pool, accompanied by Jackson yelling.  
  
Even Stiles could tell that Jackson was close to wolfing out.  
  
Derek was darting out to the patio to reign in his beta before Stiles could say “fahrvergnügen.”  
  
When Derek sought him out after Jackson had been appeased from his hissyfit, Stiles was ready for him.  
  
“I know how we can get back at him.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
Stiles held up the keys to Jackson’s Porsche.  
  
“How did you— no, I don’t even want to know.”  
  
“Come on,” Stiles said, dragging a more-than-willing Derek out of Lydia’s house by his hand. Jackson had kindly parked his Porsche in the driveway at such a douchey angle that no car could come within three feet of it.  
  
Stiles unlocked the door and pushed the driver’s seat forward, there wasn’t much room to maneuver, but they didn’t need much space. Stiles backed into the tiny interior, pulling Derek on top of him until the buckles of his lederhosen were digging into Stiles’ hips.  
  
Somehow Derek managed to close the door with his foot without getting it caught, enclosing them in the small, new-car-smell-filled space, and then his mouth was on Stiles’, who parted his lips greedily for Derek’s tongue. The brim of his hat knocked against Stiles’ forehead. When Derek reached up to pull it off, Stiles grabbed his wrist to stop him.  
  
“Leave it,” he panted.  
  
Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles, but the hat stayed on.  
  
Derek instead turned his attention lower, sliding his hands up the smooth silk covering Stiles’ thighs, his thumb running along the sliver of skin where the stocking ended and the bloomers began. Stiles shivered in anticipation before tugging Derek back down for a needy kiss, while Derek used his free hand to pull the bloomers down, releasing Stiles' cock.  
  
“Huh, wearing a skirt makes for easy access. I’ll remember that.”  
  
Derek groaned, not his angry groan, but his “do that again Stiles” groan. Stiles made a mental note to call upon his drag queen friends in the very near future. Stiles could do better than Gretel. He could be a naughty nurse or a naughty school girl, or hell, a just naughty boy in skirt. If that’s what got Derek going, did it matter?  
  
By the hardness pressing against his thigh, Stiles was pretty sure he had his answer, and he needed to touch Derek immediately.  
  
Stiles fumbled with the lederhosen.  
  
“Oh my god, how did the Germans ever get laid? These are ridiculous.”  
  
“Let me—” Derek started, as he started tearing at the buckles attached to the waistband of his shorts.  
  
“Careful with the claws, Wolfman.”

Somehow they managed to remove the suspenders with minimal damage, and then Stiles was shoving the tiny shorts down, freeing Derek’s cock. It was hot and heavy in Stiles’ hand, and he gave it a few strokes, before Derek was batting his hand away. Derek wrapped his hand around both of them at once and started pumping them at a fervent pace.  
  
Stiles’ legs came up reflexively. He kicked off his clogs and dug his heels into Derek’s back thrusting with the little leverage he could get to create even more friction. They were both on edge and leaking enough to allow Derek’s hand to slide faster and faster, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.  
  
“I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” Stiles chanted as he felt his orgasm rushing toward him.  
  
Derek was coherent enough to aim away from their costumes and toward Jackson’s interior as much as he could just before Stiles came with a shout, Derek following a few pumps later.  
  
“Scheisse...” Stiles groaned as his heart slowed down, Derek resting bonelessly on top of him.  
  
“Did you just curse in German?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Don’t make me call you ‘Fraulein’,” Derek said, lifting himself up enough that he could reach around to slap Stiles’ ass cheek where it was hanging off the edge of the seat.  
  
“Oh, fick mich,” Stiles groaned, his dick twitching in reaction to the blooming sting.  
  
Derek’s eyes grew wide in understanding.  
  
Stiles had to hand it to Lydia. Although she succeeded in embarrassing them, she had also forced them into facing their kinks they were too shy to admit to each other and defile Jackson’s Porsche in the process.  
  
 _Thanks_ , Stiles texted her, as Derek dragged him back to the Camaro, where they would hopefully go to someplace with more breathing room for round two.  
  
 _I expect those costumes to be returned to me dry-cleaned_ was her response.  
  
A second later, his phone beeped with a second message.  
  
 _P.S.- You’re welcome, Fraulein._

**Author's Note:**

> And thank you to OnTheTurningAway for the super fast betaing!


End file.
